


meet gomorrah

by anniesburg



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Blow Jobs, But With Sex????, F/M, Flirting, Kissing, Pre!Game, Pre-Established Relationship, Skinny Love Elements, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniesburg/pseuds/anniesburg
Summary: a little slice of the love sharky had before the flames got too high.





	meet gomorrah

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what this is. also i'm sorry it's all lowercase, i was having a moment.

there’s a homey charm to the pop beats and shaved pussy in a strip club. of course, his past is the stuff of nightmares but sharky considers himself lucky in that respect. the world is fucked, on the worst of days he still feels like he got a leg-up on the bullshit. 

but he’s sitting in the best of days, knees spread shoulder-width apart to occupy you. fuck, you look good. the carpet’s a dingy pink, a shag. the irony isn’t lost on him and he mentions it to you, eliciting a bubbly laugh that turns his insides to cheez whiz. 

“see?” you ask. “you’re smart about stuff.” 

“sometimes the tracks line up, what can i say?” he replies with a smirk. one of his hands departs from touching the back of your head, sharky makes a fist and taps his temple with his knuckles. he has exactly two tracks in his mind, fire and fucking. all of it’s set to night fever. 

you don’t say much after that. he runs his motor mouth like he’s getting paid per syllable. you don’t let it bug you, you nuzzle a cheek into his thigh. that makes him want to check his ears. he wouldn’t be surprised if his melted brain’s leaking out. 

“god,” you exhale like his dick’s worth prayer. it’s not, he knows it’s nothing to write home about. but he’ll give you points for enthusiasm. oh, who’s he kidding, he’s not so aloof. the way you look staring at his half-chub makes his heart flutter.

you’re predisposed to take it slow, but carnal activities usually take place on the floor of your apartment. here there’s prying eyes, girls in sequinned bras and high heels clomping by behind the closed curtain of the private dance cubicle every couple minutes. 

but you want to waste time, he can see your hesitation at kicking this off so soon. still, he wants to finish back here. the longer you wait, the less likely that is. sharky gives a hopefully casual jerk of his hips, his cock twitches when you smile at him sheepishly. you take him in your fist and he can’t bite back a low sound. 

when you put your lips to the hairline fracture at the end of his dick he feels an “i love you” bubble up in his throat. but it feels wrong, too wrong to let slip. not now, he thinks with his mind simultaneously trying to freeze this moment and press fast-forward. it’d sound too conditional now, it wouldn’t be right. 

he doesn’t love the way you suck his cock. well, he does. he really does. it’s the best, god, he wishes the lull between hard-ons were shorter. but he doesn’t only love what you can do for him. 

you glance at him, the bed of your tongue pressed to a vulnerable part. it’s painfully erotic, he strains against your fist. that’s why he loves you, you notice he’s gone silent. you’re worried. 

“i—” he starts, but he can’t commit. he plays it off like it’s nothing, a little grin curling up on his mouth. “wanna tell you somethin’,” sharky decides instead. he could say it now, he figures you don’t overthink everything when it comes to him. 

but he’s got it good with you, sharky figures. you dip your head and draw the tip of your tongue over the thick vein on the underside of his cock. his breathing goes a little wonky. you’re waiting for him to speak up because you cannot. you take the head coloured a deep, leaking burgundy into your mouth. you chase language from his head. 

“you gotta be the finest piece of ass i ever had,” he says when he remembers how to speak. his hands are fists in your hair again, though when you start to pull against his grip he loosens up. “don’t care who knows it.” 

“oh, stop it,” you tell him, taking your mouth from him with a soft popping sound that he loves a little too much. he’s a sick man, maybe. because where your lips have been doesn’t factor in how much he wants to kiss you right now. 

you look annoyed with him, for the first time in recent memory. and he doesn’t know why. it doesn’t click right away. he goes silent for a second until it occurs to him that you might not believe him. time is of the essence, his fingers hang limply from your head still. he tries to move you forward.

it’s a second before you realize he’s not trying to shove you in the direction of his dick. no, he’s leaning in. his spine curves forward and his face tilts. sharky kisses you more gently than you expect. semi-public sex gives a slightly pornographic edge to the way he treats you, you’ve never minded. but his lips touch yours and your eyes close, his hands move to cup your cheeks. 

“really, babe,” he says. he’s insistent. “so glad i get to roam them hills.” 

you don’t have the heart to roll your eyes this close to him. you steal another kiss, just a quick peck, before pulling away. 

“you mean that?” you ask. he scoffs like a child but lets you leave him to resume your work. sharky settles wit his back to the cheap upholstery. he might be kicked out, you might be fired before he gets his rocks off but that little moment— he can’t buy the way he feels after it. he can’t shoot it into his blood stream or inhale it into his lungs.

he tastes like salt and unpleasantness, but you’re not doing this for yourself. his hands tense in your hair again, his hips rock like the smallest wave. okay, it might be a little selfish. sharky’s hardly an imposing figure without a weapon, but it’s still interesting to have command of him. you know the spot on the underside of his cock, just under the head that makes him stiffen up all over with pleasure. you fit him to the back of your throat and then retreat to the lick the bulbous end of him, over and over again.

“can you—” he cuts himself off. you imagine he wants to ask if you can go any faster. admiring his restraint, you nod and the change is devastatingly good. 

sharky doesn’t catch the mewl that leaves him, doesn’t bother. it’s a compliment, not exactly a guttural or dominant sound, but it tells you that you’re doing good. the encouragement received, you bob your head and allow no time for teasing. the flat of your tongue pushes at a thick vein, making his knee shake a little. 

the wildness of his thrusts increase as readily as your speed does. the chair under him groans in protest, old wood creaking as he fights to come before the two of you get caught. it’s a telltale noise, he knows it’s hardly incognito. but it’s a little thrilling, he can admit. some girl with a stage name pulling back the curtain to the sight of you between his legs sends a jolt directly to the location of the evening. 

he spills into your mouth with no caveat, only a muffled cry of your name. his seed’s easily swallowed although not wholly enjoyed, perhaps. and you let go of his softening cock when his orgasms run its course. your cheek to his knee again, this time with you dazed and short-of-breath is a beautiful sight. even if he had a camera, he doubts it would remember the details as clearly as he would. 

sharky got to come, he’s a happy man. but you’re already pushing yourself up off the floor, sitting next to him in the too-small chair with no thought of boundaries. you’re not satisfied, not quite yet. 

“your turn?” sharky asks, turning to you with a lidded gaze. he tucks his limp cock back into his boxers, the sound of his jeans zipping is almost eclipsed by the pounding of his heart. 

“gentleman,” you tease, leaning in and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “can’t, got a four hour shift ahead of me.” 

“i move quicker than you, remember?” he reminds you, applying a gentle and thoroughly tempting pressure to your knee with his hand. sharky’s palm is warm against your thigh, squeezing gently. “come on—”

you cut him off with another kiss, a proper one and he has to wonder if it’s a purposeful reminder that he take better came of himself. his come doesn’t taste good, a fact he rarely needs to come to terms with. but you look at him, your hands on either side of his face. it’s not a reminder of anything but that one, still-unspoken thing. you love him, too. and saying it at any point in this evening could result in that being taken the wrong way. 

“and you’re too good at it. can’t have my legs shaking in the heels i brought. i’ll keel over, break my neck.” you reply, still kind. still in love. 

“don’t want that,” sharky rationalizes. he feels himself losing you before it happens. you start to detangle yourself from the places that are hard to see, hard to reach. it’s a process but eventually you have to stand up. 

he scrambles for one, last kiss. intent on a promise. 

“tonight,” he tells you. “when you get off, i’ll get you off. how does that sound?” you tilt your head up, looking at the ugly ceiling that’s pilled like an old sheet. your smile’s thankful. 

“okay,” you tell him. he holds your hand for as long as you let him. you pull the curtain aside and obnoxious, florescent lights sting his eyes. but he keeps them open to watch you walk away. “you’re a little too good at getting even.”


End file.
